I'd Come for You
by xintothefire
Summary: When Eli left Clare's life, he never expected her to call him a year later at three in the morning asking for salvation. With the girl he's still in love with shattered into pieces, he's left blinded and remorseful.  Eclare ONESHOT


_Just One more moment, that's all that's needed._  
_Like wounded soldiers in need of healing._  
_Time to be honest, this time I'm bleeding_  
_Please don't dwell on it, cause I didn't mean it_

_I cant believe I said I'd lay our love on the ground_  
_But it doesn't matter cause I've made it up forgive me now_  
_Everyday I spend away my souls inside out_  
_Gotta be someway that I can make it up to you now, somehow._

* * *

Elijah Goldsworthy was restless.

Sleep was impossible. To be completely honest, it always had been since the moment he had let the only girl he had really loved walk away, taking his life with her.

The summer heat of Toronto overwhelmed the teenage boy's body, and he relentlessly kicked his black sheets away from his sweat slickened body. Though the fan was on overdrive, it did absolutely nothing to alleviate the annoyance. Letting his hand run through his messy, dark roots, a sigh fell from the boy's lips. Cece and Bullfrog went to Vaughan for a concert to review on the radio show, leaving the empty abode quiet and eerily still.

That stillness was disturbed by the vibration of his phone against the cherry wood of his nightstand. His emerald iris' fluttered open quickly.

"I swear to fucking God, Adam.." he mumbled underneath his breath. The alarm clock on the dresser illuminated the room a soft green color, as the numbers danced along the dash.

2:57.

Without hesitation, he flicked the cell phone open and cradled it against his shoulder, sitting up silently.

"Hello," he grumbled shortly, clearly not in the mood to suffer through hearing the play by play of his best friend s fifth date this week with Fiona Coyne.

This line was silent, but her heard soft puffs of breath on the other side, almost like muted sobs.

"Hello?" He repeated, rubbing the last remains of slumber from his eyes.

Without hearing a response, he let his legs dangle over the side of his mattress. "If this is some prank call, you can shove this phone up your ass-"

"Elijah?"

His breath hitched in his throat at the voice that retaliated. It was her turn to repeat her self.

"Eli?"

"Edwards?" he asked, not trusting himself. He had waited for this moment for far too long, but he never assumed it would go like this.

"Yes." Her voice was undeniably meek, and he measured why she had called in the first place. When she didn't bother saying anything else, he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck with his other hand.

"How're you?"

Silence.

"Can you do me a favor?" Clearly skipping his questions, he could tell.

"Of course. Are you alright?" Confusion and blasphemy was the least of his worries once she avoided that question as well.

"I'm at Kelly's." His mind was running a million thoughts a second. He wanted to ask her why she had been at an old trucks stop diner along highway I5. He wanted to ask her why she had chosen to call him now all times. He wanted to be sure she was okay. Most of all, he wanted to see if this meant he was forgiven.

Before he had the chance to open his mouth again, the line clicked, signaling a purposeful disconnection. He took that as a sign.

Moving more hastily than he had in a while, he vaulted out of the overheated bed and allowed his hands to scrape up a pair of black skinny jeans of the floor, along with a gray Dead Hand tee shirt. Memories of Clare and himself driving around the city along summer nights like these, blasting Dead Hand and laughing with bliss filled his head, so he shook it. He remembered she had never been a fan of his Dead Hand and A Day to Remember, so he'd agree to listen to her Switchfoot and Paramore every now and then. It was little things like that which made them work; they just knew so much about one another that little gestures were effortless.

Oh, Clare Edwards. She had always been so beautiful; her soul, spirit and body. But that had been before. The last few weeks of their relationship had been awful, causing him to spiral into an empty pit of depression.

Once the few articles of clothing had been slipped on, he clutched the small bundle off keys from the kitchen counter, his hues darkening with the memories, though he had no time at the moment to dwell on the past. He wasn't about to drown himself in his sorrows.

He locked the door behind him as he left, walking across the dewy lawn to Morty. The night was nearly black and starless against the street lights; it was a shame, really. For once the vintage hearse started up without much hesitation, and the boy clutched the steering wheel tightly within his grip, his knuckles turning ghostly white as he drove lifelessly to the nearest highway entrance.

The entirety of the drive, he drove no less than ten miles under the speed limit. The increasing speedometer was the last thing on his mind. Turning off of the I5 exit, he allowed his head to fall into his hands, mentally glaring at the red light that separated him from the blue eyed beauty. The air was humid, and mixed with his anxiety, creating a bead of sweat that ran down his back.

He rolled down the window, relishing the coolness that swept into the cab of the old car.

There were only scattered amounts of cars on the road, mostly big trucks and early workers. It was Thursday morning, technically. Being that it was the summer before his senior year, he nearly forgot to keep track of the days of the weeks, letting it slip past his mind. Most of June he had stayed home, hung out with Adam, or simply slept. Towards the beginning of the month, directly after school got out, Fiona had insisted he double dated with a friend who was coming to visit her from New York. He tried it of course, mostly for Adam's sake, but the girl was nothing but a conceited twat. Gorgeous yes, with her long legs and sun kissed skin, but nothing in comparison to the auburn haired princess he had met the year previous.

God, he had turned into a pile of mush.

And it was all Clare's fault.

The old diner came into view, partially because it was the only place still open at that hour. It was brightly lit, the OPEN sign half burnt out as he pulled into the compacted parking lot. Kelly's was mostly a restaurant for worn down truck drivers to get some coffee, and teenagers to simply sit and talk. It was fifties styled, if he remembered correctly, and not the cleanest place in Toronto.

An immeasurable amount of time passed, and he continued to sit in that hearse, staring blankly as few cars passed. He wasn't quite sure what to do, what to say, or anything to be frank. And that scared him senseless.

Shaking his head and cursing to himself, he ducked his head under the door frame and exited the overheated car. As he walked, he continued to bow his head slightly, stuffing his hands deep inside his jean pockets.

An annoying bell jingled as he stepped in, signaling a new costumer. An overwhelming smell of bacon and grease surrounded the quaint building, and his stomach churned even more. The waitress sitting at the counter smiled politely, though her eyes were dreary. He smiled back nevertheless, his gaze adverting to sweep across the diner.

There were only a few people seated aside from the waitress. A middle aged man was perched somewhat in the middle on one of the stools, picking at a piece of pie that was settled in front of him. He had a baseball cap on, and was slightly pink in the face. The right of the door, there was a young couple laughing and talking in hushed tones.

Finally, his irises landed upon a darkly hooded figure in the very back. Small wisps of red hair peeked out from the hood, and almost immediately he knew it was her, even if the girls' back was turned towards him. He watched her for a moment with curious eyes, almost not capable of telling his brain to move.

Before he could snap out of it, the waitress raised an eyebrow from across the room, and cleared her throat.

"Do you need help, sir?"

"No, thanks." he grumbled, making way to the furthest side of the room, towards the girl. It felt almost like a magnetic force, what he was doing. The closer he got, the more he wanted to turn around and run away. But her voice, even distorted by the phone sounded so distressed. He wouldn't turn back now.

"Clare?" he asked softly, still behind her. When she didn't respond, he silently sat across from her on the bright crimson plastic booth. Her face was turned downwards, and he so desperately wanted her to lift her head.

When she did, he immediately regretted it.

Soft sniffles filled the air, and his fists tightened at his sides. The beauty was battered and bruised, her bangs covering a large cut across the left side of her forehead. She was clad in jeans and an oversized sweater, blocking him from judging the extent of the damage.

His gaze wavered along her bruise cheekbones and busted lip, feeling that need to throw up once more, but finally met her eyes. When he did, he allowed a dark gasp to slip past his lips.

For the first time in eight months, her sparkling hues contacted his.

"Hi." She managed, her fake smile more of a grimace.

"Clare-" His voice was deadly, and Clare couldn't help but flinch faintly. Tears welled in her eyes, and she wrapped her small, pale hands around the cup of tear in front of her.

"He promised me this wouldn't happen again. He promised me-" Her voice cracked, and she no longer trusted her ability to speak without breaking down. Instead, a small whimper escaped her quivering lips.

"Fitz." It wasn't a question, nor did she need to answer.

Mark Fitzgerald.

"That son of a bitch is dead." he spat, nearly his entire frame shaking with anger. He watched as Clare's eyes slowly widened with fear, and her curls bounced lightly as she shook her head.

"Eli, no."

"No? How can you even say that? Clare look at you! The bastard deserves whatever comes to him." He leaned over the table, resting his body on his forearms and staring her straight in the eye, his softly gradually once watching her pained expression. Yelling at the man who wasn't there wouldn't solve anything now.

A few tears fell from her eyes and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her navy sweater, seemingly embarrassed.

"I don't know what to do." She shrugged her petite shoulders. Her body was caved in scarily, and truly looked like a broken down doll. "I can't go home. My father's new wife hates me. Alli is probably out with Jenna, I haven't talked to Adam since-" her voice carried off, and she stared out the window. "I don't have anyone, Eli. Fitz was everything I had left."

"No."

She shook her head yes, defying him.

"Clare, look at me."

Refusing once more, he grabbed hold of her chin lightly in his callused fingers, careful not to cause her any more pain. "No matter how rough you think you have it, no matter what the hell we've been through, you can't dare think for even a second that I've stopped caring for you. Clare Edwards, I promised you a long time ago that you would never lose me. I know you may think you can't trust me, but you have to when I say that that statement still stands."

He didn't wait for her to respond. Clearly she was speechless, and he wasn't sure if that was necessarily a good or bad thing.

"C'mon, lets get you out of here." he stated after a moment, dropping a few ones on the table for her tea, before outreaching an empty hand to help her out. She took it sheepishly, hesitating a bit, but it still caused a miniscule smile to form across his lips.

Clare walked slowly, clutching her other arm against her ribcage to relieve some of the pressure that pulsed there. Eli's smile dropped automatically. How anyone could hurt such a fragile girl puzzled him. Clare couldn't hurt a fly, let alone defend herself against a burly, piece of shit criminal.

He was patient with her as she walked, holding the door open for her once they reached Morty.

"Long time no see, pal." She giggled softly but stopped to whimper, tightening her grip on her stomach, making the dark haired boys' heart swell. He helped her in, not letting go of her cool hand until she was safely seated and buckled.

"I'm not going to break, Eli." She reassured, rolling her electric eyes.

He just shut the door and rolled his eyes too, mumbling to himself sadly, "It sure seems like it." It was more than that. It felt as though any second now Clare was just going to vanish into thin air.

Poof.

He swiftly stuck the keys in the ignition and pulled the car into reverse. The drive was still, and nearly wordless aside from little whimpers from Clare and threats towards Fitz from Eli. Every few moments, he'd sneak a peek over at the girl in the passenger seat, wondering how much their lives could change over the course of a year.

His eyes stole glances at her as she pulled her legs up to her torso, curling into a tight little ball, before leaning her forehead against the cold glass of the window. Her face was pale, with no hint of her usual blush.

"Clare?"

"Hmm?" she responded after a moment, not bothering to open her eyes or face him.

"Are you alright?"

It was a stupid question. Obviously, the answer was clear. But she was still so stubborn.

"Yes."

He figured it wasn't his place to press, so he let it go shortly after their interaction. That was the last time they exchanged words, until they reached his house. When they did, he wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep. Gently, he touched her shoulder. He watched her chest rise and fall faintly, which relieved his initial fear. His lips tightened into a line, as he exited the car.

"Eli?" Her eyelids fluttered open as she felt arms around her legs and arms.

"Just me, Clare. You can sleep if you want." he soothed, picking her up bridal style. Her head leaned down against his shoulder, but nodded ever so slightly. Her hair ticked his chin as he carried her up the porch as if she was nothing. She had lost weight, he was sure of it.

Reaching down to pull his house keys out was a struggle, but he managed to unlock the door without have to put her down.

The house was pitch black, and he used her leg to flip on the nearest light switch. The room illuminated softly, but he walked right through it and up the stairs. Her face nuzzled into his chest at the light, and he spoke a hushed apology.

Her pushed aside a few articles of clothing which were strewn across his room with his foot, but she didn't even seem to notice nor care.

"I'll be right back," he whispered quietly, setting her upright on his bed. She nodded curtly, missing the contact of his warm body against hers. Her rushed to his closet, grabbing a pair of loose sweat pants and a black tee shirt for her to change into.

When he returned, she was biting her lip while looking around his room. She hadn't been in it for so long, but it looked as though his hoarding issue was long gone.

"Uhh, these are for you." He gestured to the pile of clothes he had collected for her.

"Thanks," she rasped back, her voice hoarse.

"I'll leave you alone so you can change. If you need anything, just call for me."

She nodded, wobbling off the bed to grab to fabric from his hands. His fingertips brushed her palm, and he bowed his head, quickly hurrying out of the room. Her sweater was begging to come off, and she unzipped it and let it fall to the ground without waiting. The cool air assaulted her skin, causing goosebumps to rise along the surface. Her jeans were next, which took a little more effort as she bent down to unbutton them. She winced, but managed to get them replaced with the black sweats. The cotton smelled like him, and her heart felt as though it was beginning to cave into her chest. She heaved for a second, as if she was going to throw up.

With only her shirt left to change, she painfully and slowly lifted her arms to free herself from it She didn't even get it past he breasts when the real pain started. There was no way in hell she could do it by herself.

"Eli?" She murmured, surprised that he could hear her.

"Yeah?"

"Can you, uh, help me for a second?"

"Sure? are you decent?"

Her cheeks heated. "Yes."

The door opened slowly, and his face peeked in, confusion painted across his dark features.

"My shirt. I can't-"

"Oh, of course."

He shook his head, his eyes widening in understanding.

"Hold you arms up," he guided softly, his hands faintly brushing against the bare skin of her stomach. Goosebumps rose there as well, but she followed his directions. Her shirt was pulled up softly, but his gaze stayed connected upon hers, not daring to sneak a peak at her body. Once it was off and lying across the bed, she smiled and bit her lip, murmuring a "thank you."

When he did glance down towards her torso, out of a tendency, a strangled gasp gilled the air.

"Clare..." his voice was ultimately horrified. Her eyes followed his, tracing the blue and black the covered her stomach, chest and back. His fingers ghosted along the marks, clearly disturbed. She went to wrap her arms around her body to block it from his vision but he wouldn't allow it. The shaking returned to his body and his eyes turned a deathly black.

"That fucker is as good as dead." he concluded, everything in the room turning a red tint. His hands vibrated as the continued ghosting across her once milky whit skin.

He felt something wet fall along his fingers, and ceased his eyebrows together. He looked upwards to catch where the moisture had come from.

"C'mon, Clare." He paused and helped her slowly pull his shirt over her head, making sure not to touch any part which may have hurt. "Lets get you cleaned up." She sniffled quietly, but didn't protest. The silence was killing him, but his patience never once wore thin. She was fragile at the moment, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She was teetering on the breaking point, preparing to topple over at any given second. He wasn't willing to let her do that.

"C'mon." he reassured softly, rubbing her forearms gently with his palms. She stared blankly ahead, nearly scaring him. When she finally snapped out of her stand still, he lead her to the master bathroom.

He let go of her to search the cupboards for some hydrogen peroxide and cotton swabs, and the moment his hands left her body she stopped walking. He watched her carefully as she met her own gaze on the large mirror. Her eyes were wide and doe like, their innocence and naivety shaking him to the bone. Slowly, she reached her hand up to brush her bangs back from her forehead; a wince was the outcome.

There was a nice sized gash above her eyebrow. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound was still quite open.

Intaking a sharp breath of air, he took her hand and guide her to the counter. His hands found underneath her arms, and he effortlessly lifted her up onto the marble as if she was a toddler.

The bangs had fallen back over the cut, and he pushed them back before she could bow her head again.

"My god, what did he do to you?" He voice was disgusted, and he felt bile rise in his throat. But he'd be strong, for her.

Instead of answering, her eyes darkened as the met his. Her bottom lip trembled. "We got into an argument." she whimpered once Eli dipped the swab and began cleaning the gash. His eyebrows were still pushed together, intrigued to what happened, as he murmured a soft apology.

"He was drinking. I got pissed and suspected that he was out with Bianca. He accused me of not being able to trust him. Told me I had problems and I was delusional. I should've known not to push him so far, but that just angered me so much."

He didn't speak, he merely listened. He knew all about Clare's trust issues. They started once her parents divorce was finalized. She hated getting close to people, and hated even more so to talk about her struggles. But she had with Eli, and he took that heavily.

"How long has this been going on? The - hitting I mean." He struggled to say the word.

"A few months."

Obviously, Clare was desperate to see the good in people. Because of all the possible rebounds and fish in the sea to move on from, she chose Mark Fitzgerald.

"Why didn't you get help?" he asked, cupping her face with a rough hand. She leaned into it and sighed.

"Help from who, Eli?" Her answer was simple, and there was no bitterness in her voice. It was true. Eli had been nearly everything Clare had, and he blew that. He ruined a perfectly beautiful thing. The only pure thing going for him.

"I'm so sorry." His voice broke on the second word, and tension filled the air as it did.

He was stupid.

He was ignorant for thinking he wanted anything other than Clare.

As much as she needed him, he needed her in return. And that disturbed him more than anything. Ever since Julia passed, he had never needed anything but himself. He had turned into a stubborn, independent, hard headed individual. Until he met Clare, his life was like a moonless night. He spirit was so bright and powerful, that it blinded him from everything he had come to learn. She was so gorgeous, and caring and soulful. Somehow, he had managed to single-handedly ruin their relationship, and turn both of them into shattered messes.

Her shoulders shrugged faintly, and Eli dropped the swabs into the garbage. They had turned a sickly pink color from the blood.

"It's fine."

It's fine.

It's fine?

Those were the two, most overstated words in the human existence. Especially coming from Clare.

"No. It's not." He insisted angrily, that anger only directed towards himself. Her eyes perked open, surprised.

"I was an insensitive prick, and I fucked things up. Bad." He sat down on the toilet seat, allowing his head to fall into his hands. "I thought that I had to lose you, in order to find myself again. Which makes no sense whatsoever, considering I was nothing until I found you, Clare."

"Oh, no." Clare whispered, tears falling from her eyes again. "Don't do this, Eli."

"Why?" He rasped, on the verge of tears himself. "Why not?"

"I let you in once, Elijah. And for what?" She spat, hopping off the counter quickly. It was a little too quickly, and she clutched the counter for support. "I'm not doing it again." She took a few steps towards him, causing him to stand up as well, his frame a few inches taller than hers.

"Clare, please." He nearly begged, cupping her flushed cheeks with both of his hands. He rubbed small circles on the skin there, brushing the stray tears away. It felt as though a lump had formed in his throat.

"I can't-" her voice broke. The sound of it was shattering. "I can't!" she repeated, a few ragged sobs escaping her lips. "You did this! You did this to me!" She sobbed into his chest, pushing and punching against it. He just held her tighter, a few tears escaping his iris's as well, blurring his vision. "Look at me!" she screamed hoarsely. "You fucking broke me!" He flinched. Clare rarely cursed, and it was one of the first times he had heard her do so.

She continued her assault on his chest, slapping and clawing at it to push him away from her. He wouldn't have it, as he simply murmured sweet encouragements into her ear.

"Shhh, Clare, calm down."

Her sobs came faster and it worried him that she may fall into a full blown panic attack.

A few more moments passed, before she completely and entirely collapsed into his arms, her energy drained from her body. It felt as though she could fall asleep now, and never wake again. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and small hiccups replaced the wracking sobs.

"There you go, you're alright. You're never going to be alone." His strong hands rubbed her back, soothing her into a state of euphoria.

When all strength left her body, he picked her up for the second time that night, supporting all of her weight in his arms. His heart was heavy.

Pushing the bedroom door back open, he laid her upon his bed. She nuzzled her face into his pillow, and he couldn't help but think the sight was so perfect; in the simplest term of the word.

"Sleep now, Clare." he hushed, pulling the covers up around her. Just as he assumed she had let her body succumb to the much needed rest, he felt a small form grab his hand. His eyes danced back to hers.

"Stay with me?" she asked, her voice unsure and guilty.

A small smirk pulled the corners of his lips upwards, as he crawled into bed and allowed her to cuddle up against his side. He kissed her forehead, adoring the small sigh that escaped the beauty's lips in response.

* * *

_By now you'd know that I'd come for you;_  
_No one but you, yes I'd come for you._  
_But only if you told me to,_  
_And I'd fight for you._  
_I'd lie, it's true._  
_Give my life for you._  
_You know I'd always come for you._

_

* * *

_

I hoped you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :3

The plot actually came to me in a dream the other night, and I sort of fixed it to be a little more Eclare. I have no intention on this being an actual story, but I may continue if I get enough reviews and/or you guys think I should. Until then, this story is complete. _  
_


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